The Things We Never Talked About
by Molly4
Summary: Andy angst. Dark, depressing, suicidal stuff. The dark side of Andrew Clark they never showed you. Please R&R. First TBC fanfic and hopefully not my last.


My first "Breakfast Club," fanfiction, centered around everyone's favorite jock, Andy. He's actually my second favorite character, after of course, Bender, but I just need to write an Andy angst story.   
  
Summary: The darker side of Andrew Clark you never saw. Takes place towards the beginning of the movie.  
  
  
I don't own TBC, and I never will. And since I can't remember if Andy had a middle name in the flick, I just gave him one.  
  
  
The Things We Never Talked About  
By: Molly  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Andy sighed and absentmindedly traced his fingers along the raised white line that ran along his wrist. He realized, looking at the small calendar the librarian, Mrs. Finch, left on her desk, that it had been exactly one month since he had almost killed himself.  
  
Bender thought he was so smart. He thought, he actually thought, that he knew what Andy's life was like. He wouldn't last one damn day! Andy thought, scowling. His life did not revolve around wrestling. Heck, he didn't even like wrestling that much, but he was good at it. And to some people, that was all that would ever matter. Andy almost laughed. Wrestling was important to only one person in his family.   
  
Andy sighed, and glanced around the room. Allison was sitting in one corner, sketching something. He took a good look at her. She looked like how he felt most times. Like he was living in one big, long nightmare that he could never wake up from. He was a prisoner in his own head, a prisoner of his depression.  
  
Brian, the weird kid, who got good grades, was scribbling away on his paper, like a good little boy would. Andy shook his head. How could he take it? How could he put up with the name calling, and the ridiculing he got. Brian was no stranger to swirlies, and everybody knew it.   
  
Andy glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him, and let out another long sigh. 'Who do I think I am?' Andy wondered. He shook his head. 'I'm a puppet. You gotta be the best, Andrew. Practice, Andrew. Winning is the only thing you worry about, Andrew. Forget parties, Andrew. Wrestling is more important than stupid things like that. Wrestling will get you a scholarship. Getting drunk, and pretty girls will get you nowhere but working at a fast food joint, Andrew. Focus, Andrew. Winners never quit, Andrew. Don't stop until you're better than them, Andrew. C'mon, Andrew. Is that all you can do? Work, Andrew. Work......Andy slammed his fist down on the table in rage. He saw Brian jump the slightest bit, and look over at him, almost scared. Claire threw him a curious look.  
  
'What's wrong with you,' she mouthed, giving him a look.  
  
Andy ran a hand through his short hair in frustration. Claire couldn't relate to what he was going through. She had everything she wanted handed to her on a silver platter. Turning slightly, he noticed that Allison almost looked amused. Rage built up inside him, but not at Allison. No, at his father. The man who caused him more grief than anybody else ever could.   
  
"What's wrong, Jock Strap?" Bender asked, propping his feet up on one of the tables and leaning back in his chair. "Forgot how to spell your name?"  
  
"Shut up," Claire shrieked.  
  
"What, are you his secretary nowadays, Princess?" Bender asked, folding his arms. "Do you lovingly wash his jock strap every day after practice? Do you gently wipe medication on the crusty athlete's foot that sits between his pwetty wittle toesies?.... He smirked.   
  
"I said shut up!"  
  
"I can handle it myself," Andy mumbled, but nobody really paid attention to what he was saying. He didn't even care anymore. Nothing mattered. Nothing at all. His mind drifted back to one month before, when he almost took his own life......  
  
  
  
"Andrew, dear, we'll be back in a few hours. We've just got a little shopping to do." Andrew's mother kissed his cheek, and smiled. "Behave yourself, and if you get hungry, there's some leftovers in the fridge."  
  
Andy's dad clapped him on the shoulder, and grinned. "Make sure to run a few miles today. Gotta keep in shape for you upcoming matches."   
  
"Sure, Dad. Whatever."  
  
"No, not whatever." His voice raised a tad. "How many times do I have to tell you, Andrew? Wrestling is the most important thing in your life."  
  
'Since when?' Andy asked himself. And his dad continued right on talking.  
  
"You just need to apply yourself correctly, Andrew. You need the motivation, the spirit. There are only three things you need to do, Practice, practice, and practice. The three ingredients to winning."  
  
"Yeah. I guess so," Andy mumbled.  
  
"What was that?" His father barked.  
  
Andy straightened up. "Yes, sir!"   
  
"That's better now. C'mon, Annie, we'll be late." He took his wife's arm and the couple headed out to their car.  
  
Andy growled, hatred boiling in him. He punched the wall. Hard. Somehow, though his hand throbbed, it made him feel a little better. He needed to do more. Needed to feel the adrenaline rush. Needed to feel.....needed to feel......alive.  
  
"C'mon, Andrew. Focus." Andy bitterly mocked his father, knocking over the coffee table, the newspaper scattering across the floor. "Work, Andrew, work. Never quit. Never stop. Be a man, Andrew." Andy threw a lamp to the floor, shattering to tiny shards of glass, but Andy couldn't care less. He felt free. He ran through the house, breaking random things, feeling all the pressure slide off his back. He didn't belong to his father. He didn't have to be his father's son. He was Andrew Gary Clark, free man.   
  
Andy stopped suddenly. He was in his parent's bedroom, about to shatter a picture frame. What caught his eye was the picture that lay inside. It was his family, in happier times. He was 5-years old, and sitting on his father's lap. His mother was next to them, and they were all smiling happily. That was before wrestling. Before high school. Before the weight of the world was shoved on top of his shoulders. He looked at himself, an adorable toddler, who looked up to his father like he was a god. How things had changed. Oh, how they had changed. A single tear trailed down his cheek.  
  
"Free or dead," he mumbled. "Free or dead." He raised the frame over his head, and smashed it into the ground, bits of glass, hitting his legs. He took one long jagged strip of glass, about the size of his pinkie.  
  
"Free or dead," he said a little louder. And he cut his wrist. He felt good. He felt so alive, right before he knew he would die. He cut the other one, and he felt even better. All the pressures washed away with the blood.  
  
What he hadn't counted on was his dad.  
  
"Andy, have you seen my keys. I must've left him up here. And did you make this mess?" The door opened, and Andy gasped. At the same time, so did his dad.   
  
Funny, the only thing that ran through his mind was that he couldn't let his dad see him cry. He frantically tried to wipe away his tears with his hands, smearing blood across his face. Yet still, the one thought in his mind was that he could never let his father see his tears. 'Warriors don't cry, Andrew. Loser do. Losers, Andrew, not winners.'  
  
Everything else happened in a blur. His father bandaged his wrist. Screamed at him, telling him everything he was throwing away. Being taken to the hospital. His dad not telling his mom what had really happened. And the pain of realizing that he was still alive.   
  
"You never, ever, ever, pull a stunt like that again. You hear me, Andrew?!" Andy's dad yelled at him.  
  
Andy remained silent. He felt weak. The doctor's told him he'd be fine. His wrist would heal, but he's always be scarred.  
  
"Do you hear me Andrew? Do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
"Good." Andy's dad frowned. "Now, are you okay son? Do you need anything?" His once stern face now held gentle compassion.  
  
"No, sir," Andy replied, in barely above a whisper. He hated himself right then. He hated himself for living.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Andy began staring at the blank sheet of paper again, shaking off the memories of exactly a month before.   
  
His dad never even asked him why. After Andy got home from the hospital, he acted almost as if nothing ever happened. He never acknowledged what Andy had tried to do. It was just one of those things that they never talked about.   
  
The only time his dad ever did say anything about it was when he barked gruffly, "Will you put on some long-sleeves, Andrew. Nobody needs to see those ridiculous scars of yours. I won't have you shaming our family.' And silently, Andy would obey, because what other choice did he have.  
  
Nobody knew what his life was like.  
  
Not Bender.  
  
Not Claire.  
  
Not Brian.  
  
Not his stupid, sadistic, principal.  
  
Nobody knew about him. Nobody knew about the pressure. Nobody knew about his depression. Nobody.  
  
None of them.  
  
He glanced around the room.  
  
Well, maybe Allison does, he reflected. He sighed, and began to make up lies about who he thought he was.  
  
'My name is Andrew Gary Clark, and I'm a wrestler,' he wrote, frowning at the page. The first big fat lie of that paper. Only God knew how many more would follow.  
  
*Finis*  
  
  
  
  



End file.
